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“But from this point on,” Kane continued, “after what we found out last night?” His look was grim, but with the hint of a smile.

“We do the fucking.”

Thirty-One

DALLAS

“Right here. This is as about as close as we get.”

The truck rolled to a silent stop, three-quarters of a block from the house in question. It looked like every other house in the neighborhood. No bigger, no smaller.

I leaned forward from my spot in the back seat, straining to see.

“So what are we looking at?”

“That house belongs to Evan Miller,” said Austin.

“And who’s that?”

“Remember the Jeep you ran off the road two nights ago?” asked Maddox.

“You mean obliterated? Yeah.”

“Well it was registered to him.”

I stared on in silence, looking over Kane’s big shoulder. The house was dark, the driveway empty. It was only nine o’clock, too early for bedtime.

“So where is he?”

“Probably a morgue,” Kane grunted.

The thought was a little morbid, even for me.

“Maybe a hospital,” Austin offered, “but based on our inquiries it would have to be somewhere under the radar.”

“A third possibility also exists,” said Maddox.

“And what’s that?”

“He left town.”

Maddox nudged me with his leg, from where he was seated next to me. “Dallas, think hard. Evan Miller.” His eyes bored into mine. “Do you know the name?”

I shook my head slowly, thinking. I was drawing a complete blank.

“Did Connor mention him maybe? Talk about him in passing?”

“Not that I can remember. Sorry.”

The two men in the front seat glanced at each other. I could tell they were holding something back.

“Come on now,” I said. “Out with it.”

“With what?”

“You know something. Something you’re not telling me.”

It was almost infuriating, that they’d keep anything from me at all. That even now, after all we’d been through — after all I’d been through — they could try leaving me in the dark about something.